


From the mouth of babes

by ValarMorghuliss



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-03
Updated: 2014-01-14
Packaged: 2017-12-31 08:38:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1029616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValarMorghuliss/pseuds/ValarMorghuliss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brief ficlet about Sansa, Jon and Rickon. Basically fluff. I may add to this if enough people like it as I don't like to leave it without an ending really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Winterfell was but a shell, just like Sansa. She had begun to build herself back up, but reestablishing Winterfell to its former glory was not an easy task. It's hard to stack bricks with hands blue from cold, like its hard to smile when you've forgotten how. Winter was closing its grip around the ruined fortress and there were no walls or fires strong enough to stop it.  
She isn't alone. Jon is here, walking around in his furs and barking orders to his wildlings. His aunt was furious at his decision to return north but allowed him to make the journey with Sansa. Not her brother, her cousin now. He was a cousin that gave her her freedom and her justice.  
"I'll not stay. Not if you don't want me. Winterfell is my home but it belongs to you, the trueborn Stark. I'm still a bastard whether my father be Eddard Stark or Rhaegar Targaryen"  
There was nothing in his words. Cool courtesy that sounded so much like the sly songs of a rose or a lion.  
"I've lost so much Jon. I even lost myself. You're the only thing I have left. Let us be children again and play at being a family for a while longer"

There was nothing beautiful about the north in winter and that was why she loved it. The rugged mountains and snowdrifts where less than a threat than poisoned flowers. The north doesn't lie and torture like the south. Her home reminded her of a man she once knew, broken and harsh and she wouldn't have it any other way.

The boy is half a Wildling when they bring him to her. The arrive in the dark whilst the castle is asleep but she still hears the child's screeches at the woman giving him a bath. She often can't sleep, preferring to sew the tapestries destroyed by fire and wander the labyrinthine corridors, reminding herself she is safe, and that this isn't a cruel dream like the ones she had in Kings Landing. She does this tonight, the night that her supposed brother returns, wrapped in her black furs that Jon had provided. There wasn't much warmth left in Winterfell like there was in times of her youth, just ice and the odd fire to chase the cold out of your bones.  
She went barefoot, not troubling herself with shoes. This was her home. Of course, the floor was cold to walk on and she felt shivers shoot up her toes into her gut. The chambers of Lady Stark were close to the guest rooms where they housed the supposed Rickon Stark. If he was false, as Sansa and Jon expected, it would be a horrible trick to play on someone who'd lost so much.  
The door to his room stood ajar, letting warm light seep out into the cold corridor and allowing the sound of hushed voices escape into Sansa's ears. Jon is here. She thought to leave, she didn't speak as often as she should with Jon, preferring to hide behind her sewing and furs. It was no secret that his aunt hoped for him to wed Sansa and secure the north. The north has no strength to rebel, dragon queen. She'd treated him despicably as children and she knew that he hoped for another sister, one that may even be whole. But no, she would not let shame keep her from her brother (if that was who he was) she needed to know how he survived and whether there was hope for Bran. She needed to rebuild herself just as she needed to rebuild Winterfell and for that, you need more that a Stark and a Snow.  
She gently pushed the heavy door and allowed herself into the small chamber. Jon sat facing the door, on the furthest side of the bed talking to the little head poking out the white covers and grey furs. The boy may have been bathed but his hair was still past his shoulders, and Sansa supposed she'd never be able to wash the Wildling glint out of his eyes. They both turned to face her, stopping their conversation and Jon nodded, to show that he believed the boy was truly Rickon.  
"Father, is this my mother?" Said the boy, softly and a sleepily, studying Sansa's face in great detail.  
She saw the look in Jon's grey eyes that told her everything. She took her place next to him on the bed, laying the boys head on the breast and stroking the rough auburn curls. The boy kept his hand clasped around Jon's, pulling him closer until he too had to lie on the other side of Rickon.  
"Yes Sweetling, mother is here now. You mustn't worry, mother and father won't let anything hurt you again"  
And that's how they sleep; Sansa, Jon and Rickon curled up together against the bitter cold. Sansa will do anything for her family and she cherishes the smallest wolf that came back to her. Sometimes, when you play at a game long enough, you start to believe it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well I saw few people liked where the fix was going and I played around with another chapter, tell me what you think. There may even be a visit from some of our favourite undead creatures.   
> Before you ask, Jon/Sansa is slightly less weird because although I'm not a staunch believer, R + L = J

Jon still remembered the child in Winterfell. The one that loved games and knights. The boy lying next to him was nothing like that. He was gone and all that was left behind was a child that couldn't remember where he was and was wary of his own shadow. Jon supposed that was why he said he was his father. Rickon remembered a man with dark hair and grey eyes, but he was only three when Eddard and the girls left for Kings Landing. His heart had broken when the boys face had lit up when Jon came to his rooms, to check on his brother. This boy that had his childhood snatched away and was only left with memories of blood and death and loss. No wonder he tried to forget the family he would never see again. He wasn't yet ten and lost everything he held dear, until he let it all go. Sometimes sweet lies are better than hard truths and Jon would lie a thousand times more to see the joy on Rickon's face again.  
And Sansa, sweet Sansa that now wore only black and a permanent look of sorrow had embraced him and called him her son. The child was wrapped around her now, an explosion of soft auburn hair across the pillow. She deserves more than this, the bit would take her inheritance and would leave her even more broken than she was.   
Gods, she was beautiful. She had skin like the winter snows, hair like autumn leaves and eyes bluer than a summer skies. Ygritte was kissed by fire too, but perhaps it wasn't as lucky as the wildlings say.   
The boy is stirring, so Jon quickly dresses and leaves, aware that the servants will know of the return of the lady's brother, not her son. The kitchens agree to send up a tray of food, to avoid public spectacle and Jon carries it up himself.   
How long can this continue? He's Lord of Winterfell by right, we can't lie to him forever but the lad needs parents, he's suffered enough.  
Jon gently pushes the door open to see both Sansa and Rickon awake and sat at the small oak dressing table in front of the mirror. Sansa is cutting Rickon's hair, and the matted curls are strewn across the floor like a bronze carpet. Jon sets down the tray of food and goes to sit at the end of the bed.  
"There's food for when you finish. Afterwards, we can take you riding boy. We don't have a horse for you so you can ride with me"  
Sansa turned and smiled at him before continuing to shear of the thick hair. Rickon smiled to and went to reach for the food, licking his lips I'm delight, something that Jon remembered from the old Rickon. 

After a small breakfast of bread and the best meat the kitchen could spare, Jon, Rickon and Sansa went hand-in-hand down the to stables, where Jon saddled the tall, dark mare and placed Rickon in the large leather saddle, causing the boy to giggle in delight and lean forward to stroke the horse's mane. Sansa's gelding was next, a gift from a Tyrell, the small pony was made for galloping through a meadow, not the northern summer snows but Sansa was found of him, so he stayed.  
Together they set out, the band of impostors pretending to be lords. Rickon tended to squirm in his seat and held onto Jon for dear life, shutting his eyes whenever Jon eased the mare into a trot. Sansa followed behind, with her hood turned up against the wind, giggling at Rickon's protestations against a quick canter. It felt good to hear her giggle again.   
They rode for several hours, exploring the little streams and hills that they played in as children until more than a few snowballs had been thrown and the cold overwhelmed them.  
Rickon wasn't as scared as before and even encouraged going faster, shrieking at Sansa to keep up. It took significantly less time to make their way back, although they'd snaked their way around the walls and had to enter through the godswood. Of course, they dismounted to show their respect, but when they reached the weirwood heart-tree, the child buried his face in Jon's chest, silently sobbing.  
"This is where we said goodbye to the chain-man. Have you seen the chain-man?"  
Maester Luwin was reported dead during the Sacking of Winterfell, his body found in the godswood. Sansa looked Jon straight in the eye before bending down to wipe away his tears.  
"What did I say Rickon, mother won't let anyone harm you, neither will father. You needn't be afraid. Come, and we'll find you some cakes and a warm bed"  
Jon took the boy into his arms and stroked his freshly shorn hair.  
"I said to the other boy that you wouldn't come back. But you did. When you went away I thought that you'd stay there and leave me with the kraken-men. Even Shaggy and the other boy said you were dead but I didn't believe it"  
Rickon's voice trailed off into a yawn that became a kiss on the stubble of Jons' cheek.


	3. Chapter 3

Sometimes, she still dreamt of Kings Landing, but she no longer woke with tears streaming down her face. In a way, the southern queen had got her way. Sansa and Jon now slept in the same bed, although there was a small boy plastered in between them. He was handsome enough, and there was a light in his grey eyes, a light that had faded from Sansa's striking blue eyes long ago. Perhaps they should trade colours, ever since Rickon had returned, Jon had been so full of life, whilst Sansa was just reminded of Robb at that age. She'd loved her brother and they'd been inseparable, until one day he'd decided he was too old for sibling affection and left her for his swords. She'd cried when he locked his door to stop him coming to her when she had a nightmare, now she wished he was here to smooth her hair and tell her funny stories like when they were children.   
Instead, she was mothering a wild, broken child and playing wife to someone who would not play husband. Jon was kind, but he never came to her until bedtime and even then, he was cold and kept Rickon between them.   
She thought about putting her lips to his, his sharp sweet breaths the only warm thing left to her, and the feel of his dark curls underneath her fingertips. Was it right to think this way about a cousin? A cousin who she'd treated as a sibling for her entire childhood.   
As she watched Jon across the dining table, she didn't know what she thought.   
Rickon sat between them, playing with his porridge and Jon was completely focused on his bacon.  
"Father" Rickon started, curiously.  
"Yes, my boy"  
"Some of the other boys said-"   
"What did the lads say?"   
"That my mother and father are dead. That you and mother are lying. But that can't be true because I remember you both"  
Jon and Sansa shared a worried glance.  
"You are our son, Rickon! We are your parents and we will look after you now. Anything they say to you is a lie" Jon errupted, his serene face now glazed over with rage. He'd already started away from the table and it Sansa had to run to keep up with his long strides.  
The women were already taking Rickon to his lessons, but the lad looked remorsefully at Sansa.  
"Jon!" Sansa reached for Jon's arm, turning him to look into her eyes. "He mustn't know. Never. Write to your Aunt and explain it. We'll adopt him legally, just... He must never know"   
Jon nodded "that would make him my heir, so he'd have his birthright. Daenerys may agree, but Rickon thinks that we're both his parents. We can't adopt him whilst we're unwed Sansa"  
It was Sansa turn to nod, but she said nothing. She thought of her previous husband and the way Littlefinger had looked at her and wasn't sure she could give herself to anyone now.   
"I won't hurt you. I'll be good to you, and you'll be free. I won't need an heir, so we won't even need to bed each other"  
Perhaps she couldn't give herself to anyone but Jon.  
"I will not deny you your rights as my husband, besides, I'm sure that children would make up both happy. It's just that... You knew a girl Jon, a girl that loved knights and princes and songs. I'm not that girl, they beat that out of me and now I'll never sing again. I'll do my duty by you, and we may come to love each other but I'll never be able to be happy like before"  
Sansa kept her eyes fixed to the floor, so she shivered when she felt the icy touch of Jon's fingers against her cheek. He cupped her face, brushing his calloused thumb over her red rosebud lips and tangling his fingers in her fiery hair. Sansa leaned into him, seeking the warmth of his chest and the safety of his arms, allowing herself to vulnerable for just one moment, although Sansa couldn't bring herself to look into his eyes. She kept her gaze locked onto Jon's throat. She was tall for a woman but her forehead only brushed Jon's chin.  
Slowly, Jon tilted her face up to look at him and grinned wolfishly at her, showing the shiny with enamel of his teeth. Sansa's heart was racing against the tight constricts of her gown and threatened to burst out of her furs at any moment. He leant down and brought his lips to hers gently, brushing them as if they were some fragile fabric that couldn't be forced. Sansa stood on her tiptoes and Jon lifted her slightly by the waist. He lingered for a moment, and Sansa thought he was going to do the thing that Joffrey had done, with his tongue but instead, he let her face go and wrapped her in his arms, pressing his lips to her forehead.   
"All I want is for you to be as happy as you can be, darling Sansa. I may not feel natural to you for some time, but I swear I'll never hurt you or knowingly make you unhappy. I'll do right by Rickon and any children you may choose for us to have together."  
"Send a raven to Her Grace and tell her of our plan. We can be happy together, I know it. And the wedding should take place soon, so that Rickon never knows. We can lie to him now about it just being a feast but he won't be naive forever."  
Jon nodded and they sealed their pact with another kiss.


	4. Chapter 4

Mother was happier now. He remembered that before, when she smiled, the happiness never reached her eyes but when she was with father, she laughed like before he had to go away. He never knew why he had to go, just that he was so very scared. Mother hadn’t been there, or father but now he was home and so were mother and father. He remembered brothers and sisters, but every time he mentioned them, mother became sad and started to cry after explaining that they were her brothers, so he stopped asking for stories about his uncle, the Young Wolf.  
Sometimes, father was there when it has time for his nightly stories and told him tales of wolves and wildlings. He liked it when father came, because mother wasn’t so sad when he held her hand. Once, she’d told him about a northern princess that went south to marry a southern prince, but bad things had happened and the princess wasn’t a princess anymore and had no knights to rescue her. Part of him knew that the princess was mother, although he didn’t know what to say so he just held her hand and kissed her check so she wouldn’t be sad anymore. When Rickon had asked what had saved her, mother looked into father’s eyes and said “dragons”.  
Mother and father had less time to spend with him now that they had guests, but they let him sit at the high table on fathers knee. Rickon had been scared at first, when the silver queen had rode over Winterfell on her great black dragon, with her nephew-husband flew beside her on his cream and gold but when the dragon-couple warmly embraced his parents and then him, he was no longer fearful. Daenerys, the queen with bells in her long, braided hair let him rode with her once, and she kept such a firm hold on him and they soared across the windswept northern plains that he couldn’t help but fall half in love with her. Aegon, the king taught Rickon to string a bow and said that he’d be a fine knight, but Rickon didn’t like the way that the king looked at his mother, even though father had called Aegon “brother”.  
There was to be a feast, he’d learned and he was allowed to come, only if he was good during his lessons. He hated lessons, but he loved feasts so he promised that he’d do anything the new chain-man asked. He still had to welcome the guests, as the heir to Winterfell should, but he really hated the scratchy clothes they made him wear. Mother wore white and grey, with her red hair braided at the top of her head and the rest falling down, like a shiny red river. Father wore black, and his dark curls had been washed and cut, although the back of his head was still shaggy, almost like Shaggydog’s fur. Shaggy couldn’t come to meet their guests, but Ghost stood silent by his father’s side, with his blood-red eyes trained upon the entrance to Winterfell’s courtyard.  
They rode in on their horses with a thunder of slamming hooves and a whirlwind of fine silks and furs. Behind them flew a sea of banners, Rickon only saw a mailed fist, a chained giant, a merman and his trident and a white sun in a black sky but he knew that there were others, and they were quickly hung underneath the direwolf of Stark and the silver queen’s red dragon. His father put his hand on Rickon’s shoulder and he saw mother reach for father’s gloved hand. The guests took their turns to kneel before the Targaryens before doing the same before them and were offered bread and salt. When one man, a white-haired giantlike man remarked on the integrity of the guest right, mother nodded solemnly and took the man by the hand.  
“I’m so sorry Lady Stark. I would’ve came to you sooner, to beg your forgiveness, but the Twins were loath to lose a hostage. I should fought harder, and I’d have saved him, or at least been there for you and the little lord” the large man with a giant on his surcoat glanced at Rickon his shame in his eyes.  
“Lord Umber, you served my family well. You saw your own son cut down trying to protect my brother. We must not believe that only the Starks suffered at that monstrosity of a wedding, but the crimes committed there were against the entire north.”  
Rickon felt sorry for Lord Umber, but he was making mother upset and people were staring so he was glad when the man nodded and rose, offering a hand to his heavily pregnant, young, pretty wife with seashells embroidered on her dress. Mother had said that the girl’s sister had been queen to Uncle Robb and gave her heart to Lord Umber after he saved her from Freys at Riverrun.   
The chain-man (who mother called Maester Mikael) began to usher him towards the room where he took his lessons with the steward’s daughters, Talei and Carolin. He hated lessons but he liked his friends, especially when they giggled over the warts on Mikael’s nose and hoped they’d be allowed to sit with him at the feast, although mother said that it might cause the king and queen great offence to seat lowborn girls on the dais.  
The lessons went slowly. They began by studying House Baratheon and its origins. The chain-man said that “its current position is better left unsaid” but that was only because they’d lost their war and there was only one left, a scarred girl called Shireen that mother said might just be his wife some day, but father just laughed and said that getting Rickon to marry a girl he’d never met would be like trying the dress Shaggydog in silks and jewels.   
Still, Rickon loved tales of Robert the Usurper in his antlered armour, even if the queen said he was a rebel. It seemed strange that while Robert sat the throne, the realm proclaimed him as the true king but now; they cursed him as a usurper. Mother had known Robert, and his son Joffrey but never included him in her tales.   
Talei and Carolin had giggled when they spoke of Rickon marrying Shireen, although she was much too old and a traitor’ daughter. They thought it romantic, in a way that would make a song for them to swoon over. Girls confused Rickon and he hoped that he had a brother soon to be his heir so he never had to marry and have sons. Sometimes when mother said something silly, father had this look on his face that seemed so like a knight would look at his lady from the songs, although mother never saw. It’s so unfair how she never sees, because if she sees Rickon was sure that she’d never stop smiling and he wouldn’t catch her crying when she thought no one was looking.  
He looked out the window and saw all the guests leaving from the godswood. It was strange that they’d pray straight after their arrival but he’d heard that the snows were getting particularly bad. Perhaps they’d prayed for safe delivery. His thoughts were interrupted by the maester scolding him for drifting away from his studies.  
The day went slowly after that, although the feast was looming on the horizon, Rickon felt increasingly inclined to escape down to the kennels or stables. He’d developed a love for beasts since being here, and preferred their company to people, in some circumstances. He felt wild, like an animal and Shaggy seemed to understand in a way he feared his parents would not. However, he persisted in trying to keep engaged and eventually succeeded, because one of his mother’s maids, Emilie came as the sun was readying itself to slip behind the horizon to dress him.  
She tried to dress him in scratchy clothes with so many stitches that you could barely see the original fabric but he screamed and shouted and refused to put it on. Its only when mother arrived and managed to coax him into putting on a grey tunic that didn’t itch as much that he stopped his hysterics and began to think about the food he’d eat later that day. There’d be pies, and boar, and sweet cakes. He knew that there’d be an enormous amount of food to get through from the smells wafting from the kitchens all day, and he couldn’t wait to start. He remembered when father and King Aegon brought the boar back from their hunt in the wolfswood. They’d joked that the Targaryen’s owed their return to Westeros to a boar and a drunken king and that perhaps, they should include it on their sigil.  
By the time Rickon was ready for the feast, they’d already drank an entire flagon of wine and King Aegon was giving a rather vivid physical description of the boar hunt. The queen was giggling over her cup with mother and father was desperately trying to restrain the merry king. Since the royals were already intoxicated, Talei managed to slide in next to him on his large seat. They’d left plenty food and they began their self-set food quest. Pies had been baked in the shape of the Stark direwolf and the Targaryen dragon, which struck Rickon as odd, since the Targaryens were only guests, like everyone else. Some black and red banners had also replaced the grey and white, but perhaps that was only to honour their royal guests.  
Before long, eating became boring and Rickon began to long for a cup of the sweet summer wine being passed out along lower-lord’s elder sons. There was a flagon at the end of the high table but Lord Umber’s meaty arms were blocking his reach. Lord Umber didn’t drink much, and ate less. He said that they’d drunk his fill at the Red Wedding at that he’d stay sober from now on d turned his attentions to his obviously uncomfortable wife. Of course, mother wouldn’t allow him to drink, so he’d have to get it discretely and strategize his plan. Without a word, he slipped under the table and began working his way towards the end, clambering over the feet. Whilst he was under the table, a cry went up. The great oaken table muffled the sound but he made out the word “bed” and “night”.  
He also heard mother’s clear, although slightly tipsy voice saying “Later, my lords” and before he knew it he was being whisked of to bed with Emilie, who was still scowling at him from before.  
His full stomach and the warmth of his furs lulled him to a light sleep and he dreamt of a dark-haired maid with blue eyes that looked so familiar and a black-armoured knight atop a green dragon riding away from a blue castle in the clouds.


End file.
